


Intentions

by Niobium



Category: Snow White and the Huntsman (2012)
Genre: Gen, Royal Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 23:05:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niobium/pseuds/Niobium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of Ravenna's defeat and the restoration of the Queendom, the Duke and William pay a visit to the Huntsman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> Related to [A Simple Task](http://archiveofourown.org/works/931089), but not a strict sequel, and readable stand-alone.

***

“Will you join me?”

William glanced up from the guard roster to find his father standing in front of him, dressed for riding. He went back to the sheafs of paper. “Is it important? I have a fair amount of work to complete today.”

“I would speak with the Master of the Hunt regarding your patrols, and secure his agreement to provide woodland scouts.”

“You don’t need me there to do that, do you?”

“You’re the Captain of the Guard, William. Certainly you can join me and ask for yourself.”

William looked at his father again, setting the rosters down on the scarred and listing table. “Then why must you go at all?”

“I also wish to see the lodgings the Queen has bequeathed to the Hunt, and gauge their progress in preparing themselves, that I may report it to her in the Council session tomorrow.”

The Duke’s demeanor was affected nonchalance, and William was at once on his guard. Though he loved his father, part of that love was recognition of the fact that he was a political creature, and his replies stank of maneuvering.

But what manner of maneuvering could it be? The Huntsman came by the castle rarely and spent the majority of his time coordinating things with William or in brief, private audiences with the Queen. He avoided the rest of the Council, favoring the company of the villagers or castle servants, and went so far as to pay for his own lodging at the Inn rather than take a room in the palace. If the Duke was a conductor of politics, the Huntsman was outright allergic to it.

Going with his father wasn’t appealing, but depriving himself of a chance to figure out what he was up to was even less acceptable. “I suppose these can await our return,” William said, and took up his gloves. His father smiled and led the way to the stables.

***

The Hunt were situated, by the Queen's command, in Magnus' old hunting lodge, which was a good quarter of the day from the palace on horseback. It perched next to the southern river along a bend in the rapids, built atop the heavy rock formations and rise of the north bank. The forest was cleared immediately around the outer walls, and beyond that trees and bushes and ground cover crowded in close, giving the impression that the lodge was a lone ship in a verdant ocean that threatened to swallow it when one wasn’t looking.

Ravenna's rule had been unkind to it, though since she’d not taken a direct interest in any of Magnus’ woodland holdings the damage wasn't beyond repair. The motley band which comprised the Hunt were restoring it with fervor. They sat along its stout, slab stone and wrought iron walls, repairing cracks and reshaping bent metal, or hammered and painted wood on the inner structure and stables, or set new glass into long-broken windows. 

William was quite taken with the place on first look. He thought he could see the Huntsman's plans in the work the scouts performed; it would be a fusion of lodging and stronghold, with its comfortable appearance concealing some of the realm's steeliest defenders (and more than a few traps, he suspected). His father surveyed their work with a more critical eye, and William wondered what the Duke saw that he didn't.

As they approached the scouts paid them no heed, keeping to their work, and after a moment of concern William realized it wasn’t neglect, but rather foreknowledge. They already knew of the Duke and his son's approach. He wondered which of the bird songs filtering overhead were the Hunt's secret calls to one another, relaying news and changing watches over miles and miles of forest. 

The rock-lined path made it plain where the gate in the wall could be found, and just inside to their left lay the stables. The courtyard was swept clean, revealing numerous gaps and holes in the stonework. The missing bricks and tiles were being replaced by a woman with dark brown hair, hard gray eyes, and a look of whipcord muscle and long hours spent in the fields. She glanced at them in between her quick, precise movements; her gaze lingered on his father, and when he met her eyes she gave him a slight nod of deference. In one corner of the courtyard stood an apple tree, green with new leaves and promising buds. 

A black-haired young man bolted up and offered to take their horses while another gestured at them and nodded to the building proper. They and the woman all wore simple tunics in dark blue emblazoned with the Hunt's sigil in silver and white thread: the White Stag's antlers forming the apple tree of Snow White's Queendom.

The Master of the Hunt himself was in the largest den, going over a map of the Queendom spread on a long oak table with two other scouts. Tapestries whose glory had faded from neglect lined the walls, tales of the Wild Hunt playing out across them as knotwork and rough images colored in muted tones. The room's copper and glass lamps didn't provide adequate light for so large a space and left the ceiling in shadow, giving the den the look of an old painting dusted in soot and haphazardly cleaned, with the brightest spot being the brilliant dark gold of the Huntsman's hair. 

The taller of the two subordinates (a spare woman with hair gone to gray and white bound in a tight, efficient herringbone braid) was saying, "The borders here are well established. These villages," she traced a delicate, bony finger over a line of names on the map that trailed a broad river, "trade freely with one another and had no disputes prior to Ravenna's reign. We may be able to barter silent passage with them if we are generous."

The other subordinate grunted. "It's the same to the south, though fewer of us speak that language these days. I think Ravenna planned to invade there next, so she made sure the people living in those territories were as isolated and dispossessed as possible." He had the look of the Southern March, being a craggy-faced man with bronze skin and auburn hair. He turned almost full to look at them as they entered, and William saw one eye was scarred and hidden by a patch. 

As the Duke approached the table, the Huntsman gave them a curt nod, and they both quit the room with polite dips of their heads for William and his father. William spied a lieutenant's mark on their cloaks, which were shorter than the page's (and no doubt more easily hidden in a proper scout's attire). The page trailed behind them and shut the door.

"Your people are making amazing progress," his father said. "I'd thought it would take at least three seasons to restore this place, but you could be done before fall."

"That is our aim," the Huntsman confirmed. "The sooner we're ready to begin our work in full, the better. We already have word from the northern borders that the great boars are too high in number and threatening the villagers." He tapped a spot on the map bordering the Wild Wood, where small settlements struggled to survive alongside the untamed forests the produced animals of uncommon size and intelligence (and savagery as well). 

He straightened from the table and gave them each a measuring look. "But I doubt you came to discuss that. To what does the Queen's Hunt owe the pleasure of a visit from the Chancellor and Captain of the Guard?"

"We wanted to discuss two things with you." The Duke pulled off his gloves and set them on the table, then nodded at William. 

_Two things?_ William hesitated, wondering what the other item was. The Duke's manners remained easy and friendly, yet William knew his father well enough to recognize the signs that he was gearing up for a contentious topic. 

He felt the Huntsman's eyes on him and focused on the other man. The Huntsman wore his wariness plainly on his face, so William forced his expression into a pleasant mask. With a silent prayer that his father wouldn’t say or do anything stupid, he said, "We intend to have regular patrols of the roads and borders, at least until the Queendom's recovery is more complete. Longer, if our neighbors choose to be less than neighborly--and given Ravenna's actions, we cannot blame them." He began to pace along the edge of the table as he spoke. "Since the Hunt already are or will be those most familiar with the land itself, I was wondering if you'd be willing to train more scouts, and spare one or two per patrol."

The Huntsman turned his gaze out one of the finished windows. The abstract tableau of the Hunt's newly-planted gardens and orchards played out on the thick ripples of the glass. "You wish the Queen's Guard and army to have proper scouts, then."

"Yes, that's my hope. The soldiers--even the ones from the reaches of the Queendom--will be focused on soldiering, on the castle. They'll need the perspective of someone whose focus is the land itself if they're to protect it properly, and without causing any incidents."

The Huntsman grunted assent, and followed that with a nod. Looking back to William, he said, "It will be done."

The Duke smiled and picked up his gloves. "As to the other." William steeled himself, eyes on his father. He felt more than saw the Huntsman's instinctive reaction; a subtle shift of his balance and tilt of his head that had preparation for anything at its core.

"As you know, the Queen has appointed me Chancellor, which means it is my duty to look after her well-being, and so the Realm's well-being, first and foremost. There are concerns that, as a solitary ruler--and one trying to reverse the poisonous reign of a predecessor--she will be easy prey to those who would influence her reign."

In a flash, William understood his father's intent. He thought he saw understanding flit through the Huntsman's eyes as well, but couldn't be certain. "Father--"

The Duke held up a hand, and William fell silent. He set his jaw and radiated disapproval.

The Huntsman made a dismissive sound. "They will find out, as Ravenna and her vermin did, that our Queen is no prey."

"I don't mean those sorts of threats. Those are more obvious. I mean the subtler kind an unwed sovereign invites." The Duke's demeanor hardened. "I wish to know, Erik, Master of the Hunt, what your intentions, if any, towards our Queen will be."

The Huntsman looked unsurprised by the inherent accusation. His words were clipped and his voice was low with warning. "I _intend_ nothing. I am sworn to know and protect the land on her behalf." He flicked a glance at William, and William hoped the Huntsman saw apology in his expression, for it was certainly how he felt.

"And that's _all_ you plan to do? Be her Gameskeeper and Master of the Hunt? Train her scouts and keep your ear to the sounds in the trees? Guard the borders of the Wild Wood?"

"Father," William said, exasperated. His reaction was nothing to the Huntsman's, though, whose anger was immediate and obvious in the lowering of his arms to his sides and the hard, predatory gleam in his eyes. William wondered if the Huntsman wasn't seconds from vaulting the table and going for the Duke’s throat with one of the knives on his belt. In a pitched fight he wasn't certain the Huntsman couldn't beat him senseless, and he didn't want to take such punishment to save his idiot father. 

After a tense handful of seconds, something happened behind the Huntsman’s furious expression, and he shifted his gaze to the table. The tension drained out of him as fast as it had built, and he regarded the Duke once more. "Yes." 

Relief flooded William. His father said, "My apologies. I don't mean to intrude on your private affairs, but with our Queen...it's different." 

The Huntsman's jaw tightened, and the anger stirred once more. "'Different'?" He echoed the word with a sneer. "Do you think she needs a man to protect her from anyone's 'intentions'?" He gestured in the direction of the castle. "She led an army and retook her Queendom. She survived Ravenna's treachery. What threat could any suitor pose her?"

"You would not be just any suitor."

The Huntsman slammed a fist down on the table so hard the ink wells jumped and a quill slipped onto the floor. William willed his heart to slow its frantic beating. 

The Huntsman bit off each word. "You, presume, much."

It was the truth, and William was glad to see his father choose to say nothing in response. The Huntsman straightened and gave them another once over (this time with a healthy dose of disdain in his eyes). "I intend to serve her, and through her the Queendom, to the end of my days. Those are _my_ intentions, Chancellor." 

The Duke nodded, his face solemn. "May they be everyone's." He began to pull on his gloves. "Thank you for your time, Scoutmaster." 

The Huntsman gave an irritated huff, looked back down at the maps, and called for his lieutenants. After another item or two regarding the plans to embed scouts among the Guard, the Duke and William took their leave; dusk was approaching, and the Duke wanted to be back at the castle by nightfall.

As soon as they were out of earshot of the lodge (if not the scouts who were no doubt hiding in the trees), William let his father have it. 

"Father, are you out of your mind? Alienating the Master of the Hunt--if I’d known that was your real intention with this trip, I’d have remained at the barracks.”

“Do you think that was the purpose of this trip?”

“Whether or not you _intended_ it, that’s certainly what you have just done.”

The Duke shrugged. “I sought to gauge him and obtain a more reliable measure of him. If he is put out by my questions, that’s hardly my fault. I’m the Chancellor, it is my duty to be sure the Queen’s officers are trustworthy and reliable.”

“ _Trustworthy_?” Only years of training in decorum kept William from sputtering. “That is the man who brought Snow White to us, despite the risk to his own life in crossing the Dark Forest with an inexperienced woman at his side and Ravenna’s assassins at his heels. He fought beside her against Ravenna without any material reason to do so. What else must he do to show he can be trusted?"

"Putting one's sovereign back on the throne should be reason enough for any subject."

"What have sovereigns done for him, or any other peasant?" His father's straight back and aloof demeanor angered him, and William rode his horse across the road so the Duke was forced to stop. "The last man who would ever propose marriage to her is the Master of the Hunt. Why then go and demand to know if he plans to?"

His father sighed. "Always the soldier, never the general," he said, and William had to choke back an angry retort. His father's condescension was difficult to stomach. "Of course the Huntsman would never approach her. But she might approach him."

William's outrage on Snow White's behalf was making it difficult for him to think. "What does it matter if she does? He is a good man, he would place her life before his own. What more can one ask of a Prince Consort?"

The Duke arched an eyebrow at him. "What more? We could ask for alliances with the other nations--for trade agreements, for military treaties. Failing those things, we could at least ask for noble birth. We could ask for it to be you."

William sat back on his horse. Never mind that it was Snow White’s choice regardless, and no one else’s business if she chose to take a consort or not. Never mind that she'd made it clear in the first session of her Council that there would be no Royal Wedding any time soon. Never mind that she and William barely knew one another now, after Snow White’s treatment at the hands of Ravenna and her malignant brother and his time spent believing her dead. Never mind any of that--his father’s first and last concern was protecting the throne, not the person occupying it, and to that end there needed to be heirs, either by marriage or birth or some other arrangement.

"Father," he said, looking out into the forest, "that is her choice to make. I will serve her faithfully no matter what transpires, no matter who she chooses to marry--if she even chooses to do so at all. My service to her is as friend and confidant, first and foremost."

"Of course you will serve her," the Duke said, and because he was the heart and soul of practicality he didn’t bother to argue with William in the slightest. He directed his horse around his son's. "But I would much rather you serve her as Prince Consort."

William sighed and rubbed at his eyes. Already the machinations began, and his father seemed poised to pit William against the Huntsman, rather than see them on the same side ( _Snow White_ ’s side) where they both belonged.

He turned his mare to follow after his father, tired and unhappy with this new state of affairs.


End file.
